


After You

by Notmarysue



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Mission, Staircase Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notmarysue/pseuds/Notmarysue
Summary: The hardest part of killing a man is rarely the killing itself. It's all those moments after.
Relationships: Owen Carvour & Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	After You

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah that's right, we're doing a staircase scene fic. We all knew this was going to happen eventually. I'm pretty sure it's a rite of passage in the SAF fandom.

The hardest part of killing a man is rarely the killing itself. People are remarkably fragile; a sharp blade, a speeding bullet, a mistimed slip and all together ungraceful fall was all it took to bring a life to an end. Nine times out of a ten the fight was over before it even begun. Once a person was over the pathetic, useless shaking hesitation of the first few times, killing a man was about as easy as it came. It was just a second of aim and the squeeze of a trigger, a cold machinal process.

No, the hardest part of killing a man is not the killing. It’s the moments after. It’s those seconds once the trigger has been pulled and the lights go out, when the adrenaline wears off and reality sinks in. It’s the moment when the one left standing, now hopelessly alone, realises there’s no going back.

“Here’s some advice, Curt. It’s called moving on. Do give it a try.” The bitter man who wore Owen’s face hissed. The way he said his name cut like cold steel. Their names used to mean something, whispered in the dark, soft and gentle. Now they may as well have been strangers.

If he was asked, Curt Mega would say he wasn’t thinking or feeling anything when shot the gun from his ex-lover’s hand. This was half true perhaps. He was thinking and feeling so many things at once that it was impossible to process it all in such little time, so his mind opted to skim over most of it. Betrayal was one that came up pretty often, though he didn’t have the heart to decide on what had been betrayed. His trust? That didn’t sound right. What right did he have to demand a dead man show loyalty to him? Their love? Owen had said himself. Curt had killed that four years ago, leaving behind this ghost who stood judging him.

One thing was true. He really wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he started walking up the stairs. Part of him wondered if there was still hope. If he got close enough, if he could reach out to Owen, just touch him, then it would snap him back to reality. But that wasn’t the part of him that fought the hardest to reach the surface. He wasn’t an optimistic young man anymore. He wasn’t so naïve to believe that he would be granted some fairy tale ending. Owen Cavour was dead. He had killed him once before; he would do it again. He felt fire burn in his soul, deep raging anger that consumed everything else around him. Not towards Owen, towards Chimera, towards everything they had turned his partner into. It was going to burn. All of it was going to burn.

“You know, killing me won’t take the system offline. So, what are you doing?” Owen huffed; his familiar frustration stripped off all its playfulness. Curt stood for a moment with the barrel of his gun against Owen’s forehead. He searched his eyes for just a glimpse of the bright man he knew. There was nothing there, only ice, and with that knowledge he made his decision.

“Taking your advice.” The squeeze of the trigger felt like air. Curt was sure there was a deafening bang, but he didn’t really hear it. Owen’s eyes widen as he realised for a split a second what was happening, before falling to the ground.

And just like that, it was over. Trigger pulled, lights out. Just like that the world was as it had been, Owen Cavour dead, Curt Mega alone. Reality came crashing down upon him, crushing him under its weight. He wanted to scream but no sound came out. He couldn’t even open his mouth to try. He just stood there, frozen, starring at the body and trying to steady his shaky rapid breathes. He felt like sick and painfully cold. He could hardly breath. This must be what dying felt like.

After a few seconds he willed himself to move. It took every ounce of his strength to take the few slow, cautious steps to Owen’s side. He crouched down besides him, ignoring the blood that pooled beneath him and instead focusing on his eyes. Those haunting brown eyes that seemed so much softer now that they’d been robbed of their anger. Now that they’d been robbed of their everything. Curt let out an unsteady sigh and gently closed them. Some say the dead look peaceful, like they’re sleeping, but Curt found this to be a bold-faced lie. Owen was not sleeping and neither of them would know peace.

“I’m sorry, Owen. I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have-“ The warm, sticky tears started to pour in an uncontrollable waterfall, staining his face with long, clear trails. He took his lifeless hands in his, intertwining their fingers and holding on for dear life. Those warm hands had been his safety net once. They had kept him tethered in the dark, pulling him out of his nightmares. He thought he’d never hold them again. Now he was certain of it. Finally, with all the force of an explosion tearing through a building, he screamed. Not out of fear or of anger, but out of four years of suffocating, soul wrenching grief.

“Curt? Curt, are you there?” Barb’s voice crackled through his radio. He caught his breath and swallowed his tears before pressing the button to talk.

“I’m here.” He replied in the calmest voice he could manage.

“Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. Just a few scratches. Nothing that won’t heal.”

“And Owen?” She asked. Curt gulped before continuing.

“Taken care off.” He answered bluntly.

“Aw Curt. I’m-“

“Don’t.” Curt snapped, unable to hide a slight shake in his voice. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

“Okay.” Barb agreed softly. “Tati is coming to get you. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “…do you urr…do you mind if I have a few minutes?”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.” He clicked the radio off and dried his eyes with his sleeve. He carried Owen’s body from the building and buried him alone. It was a pitiful grave, small and unmarked. Nobody but him would ever know Owen was there. He supposed he should say a few words, that was tradition after all, but no thoughtful sayings or fond memories came to mind. He’d already given Owen all that four years prior. First to an empty grave, then to an empty bottle. He was sure the same would be true again.


End file.
